


The Why of Things

by tokenblkgirl



Category: The Wire
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 17:37:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokenblkgirl/pseuds/tokenblkgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lester's always been more concerned with the why of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Why of Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ion Bond](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ion+Bond).



> This story takes place sometime between Season 4 and 5. I hope you enjoy the story. Merry Christmas!

 

**01.**

 

It’s not a face he knows. He’s been off the streets for decades, it’s not face he _should_ know; there’s nothing all that special about it. A skinny boy wearing bracelets too big for his wrists was typical on this side of the river, more like _par for course_ or _same shit as yesterday _than anything else. Don’t matter who the boy is or what he’s done, they all do something eventually.

 

Lester’s always been more concerned with the why of things.

 

 

**02.**

 

“What did you do?” Bunk asks, impatient.

 

The boy stares at his hands. He’s got the look of a mangy puppy that’s been digging in trash, searching for something that (like him) was forgotten and thrown away a long time ago.

 

“Come on, just answer the question.”

 

“Ya’ll got soda up in here?”

 

Bunk sits back in his chair. Waste of damn time. “What, you want grape? Orange?”

 

“Yeah, orange.”

 

“I ain’t got no mutherfuckin’ orange.”  He slides to the edge and the boy leans back, intimated. “I got dead bodies. Ain’t no time to be running out for tea and shit.”

 

**03.**

 

 

There was a time when Lester could get what he needed with a deep voice and some penny candy. Now they spit on his shoes when he walks by. The badge only makes’em spit harder.

 

“It’s the same.” Prez has a beard now; there’s tired look about him that comes with getting older. He hasn’t been on the job for years, but stands battle weary in the classroom. Voices rise and fall outside the door, most of them too young to be so angry. “It’s pushing against the same tide, only without your gun. You do what you can.”

 

“There’s a boy downtown, won’t talk much.” It’s a shot in the dark, coming here. But teachers remember faces, names, especially the ones they’ve failed. “We think he might’ve seen a murder.”

 

“He shouldn’t talk.”  This is how it’s changed between them. Lester always asks him to dinner and he always declines _(got an early day tomorrow). _“If he saw something, it’s probably best if he keeps his mouth shut.” Prez doesn’t meet his eyes anymore. “Otherwise—.”

 

“He might’ve been involved, but if not I’ll try to keep him out of it.  I need something else to go on. Otherwise he’ll stay locked up.”

 

“What’s his name?”

 

“Duquan Weems. Thought you might know him.”

 

 

**04.**

 

Another police, maybe one that’s worked corners longer than most, might look at that kid and think _there goes another one _and walk on by. Or maybe he’d remember the last time he picked the little shit up _(fucker hocked a burner at me, you believe that?)_ or let him go with a warning _(next time I drive around you better be a ghost, understand?)_, but it’s more likely that they won’t remember the face at all. They all look the same eventually.

 

Don’t make them bad police. Just a little more tired than the rest. And there was something to be said for predictability.

 

It was good on the heart for one thing.

 

 

**05.**

 

“I would’ve asked for grape.” The other detective says when they’re alone. Dukie shrugs; he’s lost interest in the topic. The fat one left a while ago.

 

“You know why?”

 

“No.”

 

“Cause nobody likes it. Not really. Means there’s always gonna be some left.”

 

This makes sense and Dukie wonders why he didn’t think of it first. Going last, waiting until everyone else is finished always makes things easier. Still, nobody likes grape. The dude’s old, maybe things were different for him when he was a kid. Maybe they didn’t have orange soda. “I guess it ain’t that bad.”

 

“You still want that drink, Duquan?”

 

“Most folks call me Dukie.”

 

“I ain’t most folks.”

 

**06.**

 

Prez feels a mixture of pride and sadness when he talks about Duquan.

 

He assumes this is what most teachers have for their kids, which should probably bother him more than it does. Words like _potential_ and _enthusiastic _are always tempered by_ almost_ and _could have been._

 

“He was great at computers. And I got him reading a little. Not much when he wasn’t here. Just comic books, things like that.”

 

“Comics?”

 

Prez smiles. Remembers.  

 

“Yeah, I brought him my old Spiderman comics once. Dug’em out from the garage. Didn’t much care for them.”

 

“Oh?”  Now Lester’s smiling too. “And why was that?”

 

“Too many white faces.” They both nod. Prez exhales and feels tired again; it always comes back to that. “I tried to find different ones but—it’s been a while since I looked around, all the old shops are closed. I did pick up a few Luke Cages though, down on 3rd. He really liked those.”

 

Lester asks him over for dinner, “Shardene’s cooking something good, not sure what. Always is though.”

 

Prez can’t look him in the eye these days, not for long. “I got papers to grade. Got to get up early tomorrow.”

 

He dreams sometimes, about that night and the gun. They get worse after every visit which means he won’t sleep at all tonight.

 

This is how it’s changed between them.

 

**07.**

 

“You know, most boys in your position would be damn scared by now.”

 

The soda’s almost gone. Two Snickers bars lie half eaten in the silver wrapper. He’s met with more shrugs, though this obviously pleases his companion. Probably not used to being harder than most.

 

“That detective scare you?” Lester says, referring to Bunk. “He’s not a nice man.”

 

“Just a—cop.” He drops his eyes to the table. Lester ignores the near slip. “They all the same.”

 

“I’m a cop.”

 

“You like him. Bein’ nice cause you want somethin’ aint’ no different. He want something too.”

 

“You could go to jail.”  More silence. More shrugs. “Nobody wants that son.”

 

“I ain’t no son.” Dukie shoves the candy across the table, the rest remains untouched. Lester wants to push it, explain that this ain’t detention or Juvie. Bodies means he’s a man now, but then maybe that’s the point of what happened. Maybe the boy’s already become a man and this is just pushing against a tide that’s already pulled him under.

 

 

**08.**

 

_Bennie’s Comics_ only opens for a few hours a day, before school lets out and the hoppers make their way down the street. It doesn’t matter that this cuts into the customer base, Bennie doesn’t want the kids inside anymore. “They just rip shit up, there’s no fuckin’ respect. I lose more money than I got coming in.”

 

He’ll close up for good a year from now.

 

Lester looks at the plastic sleeves, neat and lined up in cardboard boxes. “You got Luke Cage?”

 

“Yeah.”  Bennie points to the corner. “Nobody wants those, they’re _offensive _now” The last part is accompanied by air quotes but Lester’s not listening. He’s looking at the man on the cover, black, bald and angry as fuck. Luke Cage, the first black superhero. Ex-con.

 

Lester shakes his head and smiles.

 

“Figures.”

 

 

**09.**

 

“Picked you up something.”

 

Duquan perks up as soon as the comics slide across the table; the bright covers change the air in the room. Lester frowns and taps the corner of the nearest book, then picks it up to flip slowly through the pages.

 

“Now, I hear this guy’s pretty nasty. Grew up in Harlem. Gang member.”

 

“That was before he got his super strength.”  The words spill out, almost on top of one another. “This dude tried to kill it, but it just made him strong—like, super strong. Then he uses his powers for good— he helps people.”

 

“He charges though right?’ Lester puts on his glasses and brings the pages a little closer.  “A Hero for Hire.” He looks up again. “That don’t sound noble to me.”

 

“Man gotta eat.” The smaller hands reach out, before the clink of bracelets draws them back again. They stare at the comics in silence, both wanting to stay on this side of the conversation.

 

“I gotta take a leak.” Lester says eventually, and then tosses the book across the table. “Why don’t you take a look at that, tell me how it ends.”

 

 

**010.**

 

“There’s a man that runs a comic store on 3rd street. You know it?”

 

Bunk leans his chair even further back, making Lester fear it might break in half this time.

 

“That bookstore with the pink shit in front?”

 

“Flamingoes.” Lester says. “And yeah, that one. They got security cameras. But they don’t point into the store. Don’t have to, he’s real picky about who he lets in. Can’t control what happens outside though.”

 

“Outside?”  Bunk smiles for the first time that day. “You old dog, did you get me a movie?”

 

“I did.” Lester slides the small tape over. “And the boy didn’t do it, just saw what happened. He was walkin’ out the store when it went down.  Guess he didn’t run fast enough.”

 

Bunk rubs the bridge of his nose and exhales a few times. “Why the fuck didn’t he just say that in the first place. Waste of motherfuckin’ time.”

 

“You know why.” Lester reaches for his jacket. “Give’em a few minutes before you cut him loose, alright. Let him finish his story.”

 

“Where the fuck you goin’? The case ain’t done yet.”

 

“It’s my day off. I was just passin’ through, and well…”

 

“Normal folks go fishin’ when they got time off.”

 

Lester looks around the station. He hasn’t had more than five hours of sleep a night in seven years. It’s been almost twenty since he got eight, but he’s not tired today. Not one bit.

 

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugs. Smiles. “Guess I got a little nostalgic.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
